I'm John and I'll be Driving Your Carriage Tonight
by Codijette
Summary: John's returned from his first tour in Afghanistan. While helping Mike with the Christmas carriage rides in the park, he meets an interesting young man.
1. Chapter 1

John stomped his feet and adjusted the blanket over his legs. God, it was too cold for this. Why were there still people in line? Well, he knew why – it was Christmastime. Going for a carriage ride was _romantic. _He glared balefully at the sky as it started to snow again, then glanced at his watch. Still another hour. John felt the gentle dip as people started loading in the back of the carriage, then the slight rattling before it went still as they all settled in their seats.

Mike walked over, followed by a younger man, possibly still in his teens. John swallowed hard as he took in the dark hair, cheekbones, and icy eyes of the stranger. Was it legal for a man to be so pretty? John's eyes snapped back to Mike as he cleared his throat. He gave John a teasing grin. "I said, do you have room for one more?"

John blinked, glanced behind him, and shrugged. "One?" He gave Mike a confused look. "Sure, if he doesn't mind sitting up front with me," he replied. He collected the reins in one hand so he could hold out the other to help the man up. The man ignored his hand and pulled himself up. John shrugged again and offered half his blanket after the man sat down. He looked over his shoulder at the passengers behind him. "Everyone ready?" he asked. A chorus of affirmative responses answered him, and he smiled at he snapped the reins. No matter how much he grumbled, he did enjoy seeing people happy. "Let's go, Greta!" The Belgian mare set off at a brisk walk.

The younger man sitting beside him stayed silent until nearly halfway through the ride. "When do you go back?" he asked.

John jumped at the unexpected (and unexpectedly deep) voice. "Pardon?"

"You're a soldier, recently returned home, but you're planning to go back. Though your family disapproves. They want you to stay home."

John stared at the younger man a long minute, then grinned. "You're going to have to tell me how you did that," he said.

"It's just simple observation," the other man replied, but rattled off the evidence of his deductions.

"That's amazing!" John exclaimed. "What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes." He blamed the flush on his cheeks on the cold. Sherlock Holmes did _not_ blush like a schoolgirl.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Sherlock. I'm John Watson. And you're right, I am planning to go back, but not for a few years. Next time I'm deployed, I'll be a doctor."

They both fell silent as the carriage drew to a halt and all the passengers climbed out. John wished them all a Merry Christmas, and thanked those who handed him tips. Sherlock fidgeted in his seat.

"Would it... would it be alright if I went around again?" he asked.

John grinned. "As long as I don't need the extra space for a large group, you're welcome to stay as long as you like." The city was paying them to do these rides, so they weren't charging people. Which meant he wasn't obligated to send Sherlock back to the line.

Mike directed the next group to John's carriage. Once they were all seated, John clucked to the horse. "Onwards, Greta May!" he commanded, then turned to Sherlock and asked him about his work.

Sherlock started out hesitantly, but was soon chattering animatedly about New Scotland Yard and crimes he had helped solve. If Mike noticed the two sitting closer than necessary a the carriage made its way back around, he said nothing, just smiled to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock returned the next night, and again the night after that. Only twice did he have to sit out a round due to large groups, though he did often end up with a child in his lap or squeezed between him and John.

On the third night, after they'd made at least a dozen laps and were halfway through another, Sherlock suddenly jumped off the carriage and disappeared down an alley. John pulled the carriage to a halt and stared after him. A muffled gunshot met John's ears, and he pressed the reins into the hands of the child sitting next to him. "If she starts walking, pull back and say whoa," John commanded. "Wait here, I'll be back." With that, he leapt off the carriage and bolted after Sherlock. After a couple of turns, he found him pinned to the ground in a brawl. A handgun lay forgotten a few feet away. John snatched it up and pointed it at the men on the ground.

"Let him go," John growled.

Both men froze, then slowly looked up at John. The man on top of Sherlock laughed. "What are you going to do with that? Shoot me and you'll hurt your friend too."

John's answering grin made Sherlock's skin crawl. "Try me. You've got five seconds to get away from him." At the end of the countdown, the man hadn't moved an inch, and John pulled the trigger. The man toppled over, howling and clutching his shoulder. John held out a hand to help Sherlock up.

"Lestrade's on his way," Sherlock commented. He snapped handcuffs around the man's wrists, ignoring his protests. "Shouldn't you be getting back to your carriage?"

"In a minute." John tied his own scarf around the man's shoulder to staunch the bleeding. "Lestrade knows where to find him?" Sherlock nodded. "Then you're coming with me. There's a first aid kit in the trailer."

"A first aid kit? I'm fine!" Sherlock argued. John simply reached up and brushed his fingers across Sherlock's cheek, then turned his hand so he could see the blood. "Oh."

"Yeah, now come on."

Sherlock followed John back to the carriage , and this time accepted when John offered a hand to pull him up. John apologized to the passengers and promised them a second round. When they made it back to the queue, John passed the reins off to Mike and led Sherlock over to the horse trailer.

He passed Sherlock a folding chair to sit on and rummaged around in the tack room until he found the first aid kit. He pulled out a few wet wipes to clean his hands, and another for Sherlock's face.

"You shot at me," Sherlock said, finally giving in to shock.

"Not exactly," John replied. "That gun was a piece of trash. There was no chance of the bullet going all the way through him. Honestly, I was half expecting it to blow up in my hands. You were perfectly safe." He finished treating Sherlock's cheek and straightened up. "Well, it's not as bad as it looked. No signs of concussion. Any chance of broken bones?" he asked, as his fingers gently probed Sherlock's ribs.

"I told you, I'm _fine,_" Sherlock insisted, pushing John's hands away.

"Freak! There you are!" Both men jumped. "How many times does Lestrade have to tell you? Wait for us, quit running off!" Donovan demanded.

Sherlock opened his mouth, no doubt to make some snarky reply, but John spoke first. "Sorry, that was my fault." He gestured to the first aid kit.

"And who are you?"

This time, it was Sherlock who spoke. "This is my friend, John Watson."

Donovan turned her attention back to Sherlock. "Friend? Since when do you have friends?" She faced John again. "You're friends? With this guy?"

John shrugged and grinned. "Something like that." His shoulder gently brushed Sherlock's as he moved to shake Donovan's hand. Donovan's eyes narrowed in scrutiny at the easy contact between the two. She rolled her eyes as she turned away to type out a text message on her phone. "You're both freaks," she commented, then looked up to see two retreating backs. "Hey, wait a minute! Where do you think you're going?"

"John needs to get back to work," Sherlock called over his shoulder.

"Lestrade needs to talk to you!"

Donovan's eyes widened in shock when John's hand reached for Sherlock's. "Later!" John replied, not bothering to look back.


End file.
